<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Acts of Creation by jhoom</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459363">Acts of Creation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom'>jhoom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(implied) - Freeform, Bottom Steve Rogers, College Student Steve Rogers, Frottage, M/M, Manhandling, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Minor Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Muse Steve Rogers, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Professor Bucky Barnes, Student Steve Rogers, Teacher-Student Relationship, Writer Bucky Barnes, handjobs, the silent treatment, twink steve rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:07:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with Clint asking Bucky to open up an extra spot in one of his classes for a promising (and handsome) senior, and it's all kind of downhill from there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>247</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Acts of Creation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Another <a href="https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/">Bad Things Happen</a> bingo square fill and my very first stucky au fic :) today's prompts include: misunderstandings and the silent treatment</p><p>very important visual reference (i.e. blatant objectification): imagine <a href="https://musette22.tumblr.com/post/624273038081425408/do-you-have-any-pictures-that-show-seb-being-beefy">this bucky</a> with <a href="https://musette22.tumblr.com/post/624174264804900864/barberevans-chris-evans-in-the-perfect-score">this steve</a></p><p>come visit me on tumblr <a href="http:/jhoomwrites.tumblr.com">@jhoomwrites</a> to talk stucky and marvel <strike>i also sometimes take prompts</strike></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Can you take one more in your 450 class?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No hello or anything, Clint just pops his head in Bucky’s office and asks for a favor like his English 450 class isn’t his most popular class and fills up super quick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It’s full for a reason," Bucky says without more than an eye roll. "I’m not taking extras." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to go back to his book—it’s an old favorite, but he hasn’t read it in a few years and needs to brush up before the semester hits—and hopes that’ll be that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not. It never is with Clint. Bucky’s not even sure why he’s surprised.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"C’mon," Clint whines, doing his best puppy dog eyes and even putting in the effort of coming one whole step into the room. "The guy’s been trying to get into one of your classes since freshman year. He’s gonna graduate this spring, this is his last chance." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky makes a show of a deep sigh. He puts his bookmark into place, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and actually gives Clint his full attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He’s a senior?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then he should have been able to get in before it filled. If he’s on the waitlist, he might still get a spot." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint’s shoulders sag. "He was out of town when registration opened. C’mon, cut the guy some slack. He’s one of my best. I promise, he won’t give you any trouble. In fact, by the end of the semester you’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s in your class. Guy writes good stuff." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"... You promised him you’d get him in, didn’t you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." A pause. "Yes. I’ll throw in a beer. Five beers. A hundred beers. Endless beers. Name your price." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is why I asked Nat to give me an office on the opposite end of the floor," Bucky mutters, though there’s no real bite behind his complaining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, but the only other spot is next to her and she’s not dealing with me all day." Grinning widely and almost hopping up and down in excitement, he asks, "You gonna do it? You gonna take him?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky pulls his keyboard over and wiggles his mouse until the computer wakes up. "What’s his name?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint does a fist pump. He then reveals a file he’s been hiding behind his back and unceremoniously drops it on Bucky’s desk. It reads </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve Rogers</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Clint’s messy handwriting and is filled with examples of his work from the past four years. Bucky thumbs through it briefly, sees some things he knows Clint’s gushed about, and figures he’ll take a closer look later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes through the scheduling system and manually adds one Steven G Rogers to his 450 course. It asks for no less than three overrides to get him into course. Not only is it full, but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>waitlist</span>
  </em>
  <span> is full, and Bucky’s gonna get shit from Nat for doing this but oh well. He’ll just point her right to Clint and let him bicker about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re good at bickering. Almost as good as they are at working it out. Probably why they’ve been married so long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Done. You owe me an undisclosed number of beers and I’m calling in the first one tonight." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint practically skips out of his office. "Sure thing! Come grab me when you’re done working!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky smiles fondly before he opens up his book and goes back to reading. He completely forgets about Steve Rogers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are papers all over his desk, most of them copies of syllabuses (syllabi? he and Nat still argue over that one) for the upcoming semester. He re-purposed one of his old ones and even went through the trouble of making copies… then of course realized he’d forgotten to change some key dates and had to start the whole process over. Right now Bucky’s doing one last proof read because he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> explaining to Nat how he blew half his copy allotment over the fucking syllabus when there’s a knock at his door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come in," he says without looking up. Clint doesn’t knock, so he’s expecting Nat when he looks up. That’s probably why it hits him so hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing awkwardly in his doorway is a man he’s never met before. Plus lips, grabbable hair, stunning eyes… Unconsciously, Bucky sits a little straighter, licks his lips, and tries to remember if he ever did his hair properly after going to the gym this morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I help you?" Bucky asks, hoping that this isn’t some terrible mistake and the cute guy isn’t really looking for someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man jerks a little, clutches the strap of his messenger bag a bit as he takes a couple half steps into the room, and then blurts out, "I wanted to stop by and say thank you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a brief moment where Bucky racks his brain, trying to figure out if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> this guy (he couldn’t, he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> forget that face) and then wondering what a total stranger could be thanking him for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For letting me in your class," the guy blurts out. He blushes a little, and the color does wonders on him. "I’m doing this all backwards… I’m uh… I’m Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers. Professor Barton is my adviser and he said he’d talk to you about your writing seminar and then I saw you’d added me to the class so I wanted to thank you and now I’m here looking like an idiot and you’re probably reconsidering why you helped out some random kid who can’t even introduce himself properly." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word ‘kid’ startles Bucky a little. This guy looks young, has twink written all over him, but there’s a definition to his features and his physique that in no way suggest he’s a ‘kid.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky takes a moment to collect his thoughts before he flashes what he hopes is a reassuring smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You’re welcome," he says smoothly. "And no worries. Barton tells me you’re a promising student and I like to think we do a good job of fostering promising students in this department." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s a student,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks morosely. </span>
  <b>
    <em>Your</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> student. So pretty though… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky hopes his thoughts don’t show on his face. They must not, because Steve smiles back, both shy and relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’ll do my best," Steve assures him solemnly. It’s adorable, and Bucky knows he’ll have a hard time not thinking the same about everything he does all semester. Why does he have to be in Bucky’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>seminar</span>
  </em>
  <span>? There’s only twenty students in there, no way he’ll be able to ignore him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Twenty-one students now… Not sure that helps.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m sure you will," Buck says. He does his best not to let his gaze linger on those lips. Not that it helps to look anywhere else, since nothing about Steve Rogers is even remotely unattractive. Even his awkwardness is endearing, and yep, Bucky’s doomed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve beams at the praise, relaxing for the first time since he’s stepped into Bucky’s office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’ve read all your books." It looks like Steve wants to gush and is only </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> holding himself back. "I loved them. I think my favorite was </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Winter Soldier</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Really got me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky startles a moment. Most of his students don’t bother reading his work, since it’s so different from what he usually teaches. The few who do read one or two are the students he mentors, and he always gets the impression they’re doing it more to impress him than anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have me at a bit of a disadvantage," Bucky says, because he has never been good at handling such open praise. It’s why he reads the book reviews for his work, they’re more muted in the way they talk about it and offer as much criticism as anything else. When he notices Steve’s confused frown, he adds, "I haven’t had the chance to read any of your work yet. Normally students in my upper level seminars, I’ve had them a few times already in other courses. They’re all known quantities." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, well, it’s nothing much." Steve dismissing himself so quickly that it reminds Bucky vividly of himself. He takes a seat in the chair across from Bucky and leans forward, suddenly all eagerness now that he’s gotten over his initial nerves. "Honestly, I’d rather hear you talk about yourself. Are you working on anything new?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I have something. Just the first couple chapters. It’s all garbage right now, anyway," he deflects, same as always when someone asks. Only Nat is stubborn enough to push past and get any real answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead of getting Steve to let it go, it seems to have the opposite effect. Steve leans in, licks his lips, and asks, "Could you read me some?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky flushes. It’s not often that someone shows such obvious interest in him that it takes him a few seconds to collect himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s interested in your </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>work</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tells himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s not interested like </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>that</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. Get it together, Barnes. The guy’s young, probably has no idea.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I uh… it’s really rough," Bucky tries again. He pulls at the collar of his shirt, suddenly regretting he chose to wear a tie today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, just read me your favorite bit so far. I’m sure it’s better than you think." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushy. Bucky really shouldn’t like that, really shouldn’t be letting himself be bossed around by some guy—some </span>
  <em>
    <span>student</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s just met, and here he is, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out a notebook that has coffee stains and bend marks across the cover. The inside’s a mess of different pens, post-its, and highlighted notes, but it’s not hard to find his favorite passage so far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbles over his words as he starts reading, but slowly falls into a rhythm. He falls into the story, the world he’s built, and by the end of it, there’s a quiet hush in the office. It’s hard to come crashing back to reality after that; Bucky stays quiet a moment to let himself linger in the words a little longer, and Steve echoes his silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What’s it called?" Steve asks, voice low like he doesn’t want to break the spell of whatever moment they just shared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>The End of the Line</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Bucky says. He closes the notebook and tosses it back in the drawer. He coughs a bit, avoids meeting Steve’s eye. "Haven’t gotten a whole lot farther than that bit. Not sure where it’s going." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You’ll figure it out," Steve says. Even though he’s not looking, Bucky can </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> the smile in his voice. The gentle encouragement is almost enough to make him blush, and he can’t help but think their roles are reversed. Shouldn’t he be the encouraging one as Steve shares his writing? Isn’t that how this student/professor thing works?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, maybe." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence stretches for again before Steve abruptly gets up. "Sorry. I just came by to thank you and here I am, taking up all your time." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, I appreciate you stopping by." Buck stands up to show him out. It makes him feel more in control to take the simple action. "See you next Tuesday, Rogers. Bright and early. Can’t wait to see what you’ve got." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks! Hopefully I live up to what Professor Barton’s said about me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m sure you will."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Bucky’s hand lingers on Steve’s shoulder for a moment, well, there’s no one to notice it. The same is true as he watches Steve walk down the hallway towards the stairs, that’s also Bucky’s secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he’s alone, Bucky rushes back to his desk. He grabs his notebook and flips to the last page he worked on, grabs a pen, and fervently starts writing. It’s been months since he’s added more than a line here or there, and now he adds pages and pages until his wrist hurts and the sun’s moved past his window. Months and suddenly a spark of inspiration, driving out more and more and more words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Imagine that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve Rogers is as brilliantly talented as promised, and Bucky finds he’s disappointed by that. He shouldn’t be, it’s absurd to be upset that one of his upper level students is remarkably capable, but he can’t help it. He keeps pushing him in class, during discussions, through their email correspondence, to try and find a crack to show that Steve has </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of failing, no matter how small. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three weeks into the semester, and the only one he can find is that Steve’s young. And more than that, it’s really that he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> young for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You do not have a crush on one of your students," he mutters to himself again and again as he sees Steve with more regularity. "So what if he’s handsome, smart, talented, funny, kind…" He stops himself, pinches the bridge of his nose, and forces himself not to think about Steve Rogers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually when he gets that far, he grabs his notebook and writes. He’s added no less than five chapters since he read to Steve, and now he secretly hopes that Steve will ask him to again. Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> ask about the book, but usually only in generic terms. How is it going, does he have writer’s block again, has he figured out his main character’s story arc, etc. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time it comes up, Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat and he hopes Steve will ask for him to read more… and prays that he won’t, because it feels like a slippery slope to fall into that habit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How’s Rogers doing for ya?" Clint asks one day and Bucky practically jumps out of his skin. Not by the question (or at least not </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> by the question), but dammit he needs to put a bell on Clint. He just </span>
  <em>
    <span>appears</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of nowhere without the decency of making his presence known before he scares the shit out of Bucky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He’s doing well," Bucky says. He measures out each word, afraid to give away too much. He doesn’t want to be too enthusiastic, despite Steve being one of the best students he’s ever had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint grins wide, knowingly, obnoxiously; Bucky wants to punch him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Told you you’d like him. Lemme know if he gives you any trouble." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether he means to or not, Steve Rogers has given Bucky nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span> trouble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky snorts. "Will do." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Bucky’s mercifully alone so he can contemplate all the ways he hates Clint right now for putting him in this position and how he can make him pay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky pulls off his gym shirt, still damp but not quite as soaked as when he’d finished his workout, and tosses it into his bag. He got a little too carried away at the gym and missed the narrow window when he could actually shower and change before heading to his office. He had to run across campus and is now scrambling to change into something even remotely more professor-y than Under Armour and basketball shorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he’s lucky, he can use his lunch time to get an actual shower in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls a sweater over his head, cringes when it sticks to his skin and doesn’t quite fall into place. Muttering obscenities to himself, he turns around to find that none other than Steven Grant Rogers is at the door to his office, openly staring at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, this is fucking embarrassing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Steve." It’s a relief that his voice sounds almost like his normal one. "Can I help you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s eyes are fixed to Bucky’s biceps. "Huh?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you here for office hours?" Bucky asks. His own eyes dart to his sleeves to make sure there’s nothing wrong with his shirt. There isn’t, and he wonders why Steve is looking at him like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh." Steve snaps out of it. "Right. Yes. I’m here for office hours." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause. Bucky can hear the clock above his door ticking the seconds away until he asks, "What’s your question, then?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Question," Steve repeats. He’s now staring at Bucky’s chest and licking his lips. "So do you work out? Like, a lot? It looks like you work out a lot. Weights? I bet you do weights. How much can you squat?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky flushes and puts his arms over his chest self-consciously. It only makes Steve gulp, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> does it make him do that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you have any questions about the assignment?" Bucky asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, right." Steve frowns briefly before saying, "You use the school gym?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Completely at a loss, Bucky can’t decide if Steve’s asking for workout advice (it’s hard to tell his physique from the loose fitting shirt he’s wearing) or if he’s trying to flirt. It only takes two seconds of self-indulgence before Bucky rolls his eyes at himself. Of course Steve isn’t flirting. He’s young, probably has no idea what it looks like when he does that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a seat at his desk, he motions for Steve to do the same. "So the assignment," Bucky prompts again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only a moment of hesitation before Steve grabs the open chair and starts rifling through his messenger bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right. Sorry. I uh… I was hoping you could look over this for me…" He pulls out some papers and hands them across the table for Bucky. As Bucky reaches over, it’s almost like Steve changes the angle so there’s no choice but for their hands to brush together as Bucky takes them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An accident, obviously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat and looks down, realizes he doesn’t have his glasses on, and grabs the spare pair from his desk. "This your latest essay—?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Could you read it out loud?" Steve asks suddenly. When Bucky gives him a questioning look, he gives an abashed smile. "It might help me get a feel for what I need to work on if I could hear it out loud." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky raises an eyebrow. It’s not a request he’s ever gotten before, but he may as well. The other option is him reading it silently to himself while Steve sits there and waits patiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I suppose I can…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Great," Steve says. He leans forward in anticipation, and dammit, Bucky really wishes Steve were maybe five years older. Anything so he’d know the effect he’s having on Bucky, and maybe Bucky could know if Steve’s doing it on purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The essay is short, but still it pulls Bucky in. He finds himself laughing or smiling as he reads, and by the end he feels lighter for having read it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don’t know what you’re worried about," Bucky says as he tosses the papers back to Steve. "You don’t need to change a thing. Perfect as is. You got a great voice." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s smile rivals the sun for brightness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks." He carefully takes the papers and puts them back in his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Bucky can even mourn the end of their time together, he notices that Steve’s made no move to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is there anything else?" he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Steve licks his lips is downright sinful, as is the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. "I was hoping maybe you could read me more of your new book," he says, and the bastard bats his eyelashes at Bucky like it doesn’t make his heart skip a beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don’t know…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said you’d gotten some more added," Steve says. His tone is even, gentle, not at all pushy, and it stirs something inside Bucky, something that makes him want to please him. "I’d love to hear it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it is, what Bucky’s been wanting to hear since they first met. More sharing, and not the way he shares with his students in class or with his colleagues or even when he publishes his work. There’s something infinitely more personal about this, sitting in the quiet of his office and sharing words back and forth that no one else has seen yet. Words at their rawest form, not polished, not ready for anyone else, but shared nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I shouldn’t—" he protests, even though he’s so damn eager for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head at the denial. "C’mon, fair’s fair. You heard my stuff, I get to hear yours." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden idea occurs to him. "Technically, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> read your essay. You going to read out loud for me?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the right thing to say, because Steve looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleased</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the request. "Really?" he asks. It looks like it takes all of his effort not to jump out of his seat and grab the notebook from Bucky’s desk. "I’d be honored to." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Bucky felt the last time they did this, when it was him sharing this personal part of himself with a stranger, it’s nothing to what it’s like this time. Now Steve is a mouthpiece for his words, words that he’s indirectly inspired and it’s beautiful. It’s perfect; the only real way to experience this story is in this moment, as Steve reads from crinkled pages with awe and excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve turns page after page, and both of them are lost in the cadence of Steve’s voice and the way the words drip from his lip like honey. And then Steve turns the page and there’s nothing, the sentence coming to an abrupt end before it reaches its peak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You’re killing me," Steve teases, but he does genuinely look disappointed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hang on…" Bucky searches his desk before coming up with a pencil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing what he’s doing, Steve jumps up and walks around the desk, putting the notebook down in front of Bucky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know what’s next?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shhh," Bucky hushes and starts writing. Steve reads the words as they go; they flow from Bucky’s arm to the page to Steve’s lips in an endless cycle, and they spend nearly an hour working through the next five pages together. Occasionally Steve will read a word or phrase differently than it’s written, and hearing it lets Bucky know it’s wrong, knows he has to change it. He’ll cross it out and Steve will carefully repeat what he’d said until Bucky fixes it, and then they move on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s… strangely erotic, having Steve looking over his shoulder, crowding his space, whispering his own story practically right in his ear. Halfway through, he realizes he’s hard and it’s only a secondary consideration, a moment of </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he moves on and ignores it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they get to the end of the chapter, though, well, it’s impossible not to notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks," Bucky whispers, somehow breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right there, right next to him, breathing in the same air, Steve whispers back, "You’re welcome. Glad I could help." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky turns just so, just enough that he’s looking into Steve’s bright eyes. There’s only a couple inches between them, and Bucky wants nothing more than to cross that distance. He’s frozen where he is, daring himself to move while pleading with himself not to— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone walks by Bucky’s open office door and they jump apart. The moment’s gone like smoke, and Bucky finds himself embarrassed that he let himself get caught up in an act of creation like that. It wasn’t romantic or erotic, and he curses himself for the mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his part, Steve is glaring daggers at the empty doorway. Bucky’s not sure he understands why—is he upset about what almost happened and now wants to flee?—and immediately he rolls his chair back to create space between them. He has to clear his own head if nothing else, to shake loose whatever it was that just happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," Steve grumbles. He takes the hint and moves back to the other side of the desk to retrieve his messenger bag, looking more upset by the minute. "I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, it’s fine—" Bucky glances at the clock on his wall and does a double take. "Shit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs his gym bag. It’s halfway through his lunch hour, he’ll have to rush if he wants that shower before his afternoon classes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something wrong?" Steve looks alarmed, and Bucky’s quick to reassure him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m just running late. I didn’t realize the time." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Didn’t realize I spent three hours with you… Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh." There’s something like relief on Steve’s face; he relaxes and falls into step with Bucky as he locks his office and walks towards the stairs. "I’ll walk you out. I’ve gotta grab lunch, anyway." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky’s stomach growls. Lunch, there’s a thought. If only. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh well. He’s got some protein bars in his desk and maybe a cup of instant noodles. He’ll survive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was certainly worth the distraction, in any case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, as Bucky showers as quickly as possible, he maybe takes a few extra minutes to jerk himself off while remembering the feel of Steve pressed in close by his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky’s hand is cramping and his handwriting is getting messier and messier as he goes through these papers. He loves working with the freshman because they’re so enthusiastic and not yet exhausted by the college grind, but it’s usually a lot more work on his end as he tries to balance constructive criticism with praise. It basically means he covers each page with ink, and he wonders if maybe he should switch to digital turn-in if only so he can type his comments instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something more real about getting it back with handwritten comments, though. Something more real, actual evidence that someone sat there and read your work and felt it was worth the effort of engaging you about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’ve got a gift for you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jerks slightly at the interruption, a blotch of ink on a paper and a now illegible word evidence of his surprise. When he looks up, he sees Steve looking at him with an unreadable expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been two weeks since the… well, he doesn’t know what to call it, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>since then.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve hasn’t shown up for office hours since, but even their interactions in class have felt more loaded. It’s late, prematurely dark from the time of year, but still too late for a visit from a student. Steve commutes (Bucky shouldn’t know that, but he does), so why is he here of all places instead of at home?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he registers the words and the person in his doorway, Bucky can feel a blush crawling up his neck and making even his ears go red. "Wh-what?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve holds up a bottle of whiskey. "Professor Barton mentioned you like whiskey, so I got you some from a distillery by my place. As a thank you. I know we’re barely halfway through the semester, but I’m really enjoying the class and appreciate you giving me a chance, sight unseen." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don’t have to—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And, if it helps make it easier, it’s to celebrate my first real publication." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That has Bucky breaking into a wide grin. "Which piece?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That essay I read you. It’s just an anthology—" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shut up, you’re getting published. Don’t give me that ‘just an anthology’ bullshit. Building up a resume while you’re still in school is great." Bucky grabs two coffee mugs from his window sill, sniffs them to make sure he’s actually watched them, and sets them on the table. "Close the door, would ya? I know you’re old enough, but they get pissy when they see me and Romanov drinking." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s all smiles as he closes the door, the lock clicking into place. "You and Professor Romanov drink on campus?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She’s the only one around here who likes vodka. Feels like the only fitting way to talk Tolstoy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He motions for Steve to hand him the whiskey, but Steve refuses; he opens it himself and pours them both a generous amount. Bucky watches, realizes he’s staring, and scrambles to find something to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m not surprised, you getting published. That was a good piece. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little surprised that’s the first one, though. You’ve got a real talent, not sure why it’s taken this long for it to happen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve chuckles, a sound bubbling up from deep in his chest and lighting Bucky’s skin on fire. "I’m not that good." A pause as he takes his first sip and savors the burn of it. "It’s actually the first time I’ve ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>submitted</span>
  </em>
  <span> something for publication." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So you’re one for one? Guy says he ain’t that good, gets published first time he even tries it. Sounds like a good writer to me." Bucky takes a sip, finds it’s damn good whiskey, and immediately takes another. "This is good shit." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," Steve says. "Too good not to share and too good not to save for a celebration." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I’m honored you picked me. Pour me some more though, yeah?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talk for a while, working their way through nearly half the bottle. Bucky barely knows what they’re talking about half the time, but it’s mostly Steve talking, anyway. It gives him the excuse to just sit back and listen and enjoy the rise and fall of his voice as he speaks. The guy’s a natural born storyteller. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says as much as and Steve looks shocked a moment before he throws his head back and laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Glad you think so," he says warmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Steve’s sitting there across from him, rosy cheeks and legs spread and hooded eyes, and it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s really not fair. Not at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only way to distract himself is to get up and stumble towards his bookshelf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You ever read my first stuff that got published? Absolute horse shit." He pokes through in the hopes of finding the collection of short stories, two of his own mixed in. It takes a minute of poking around, wiggling between the volumes tightly pressed into the overcrowded shelf before he manages to work it free-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he turns around in victory, Steve's lips are on his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss takes him by surprise, and while Bucky mentally checks out, his body enthusiastically responds. The book falls forgotten to the ground as his arms come up to wind around Steve, one in his hair, one on his waist to pull him close and keep him there. Steve parts his lips and then Bucky's tasting his whiskey soaked kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve tastes </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fits so perfectly in Bucky's arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He growls and pulls Steve even closer, their bodies flush and both of them hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can really consider if it's a good idea, he pulls Steve's legs around his waist and flips them around so he can press Steve into the bookshelf while he licks a stripe up his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck," Steve hisses. "You're so strong."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In response, he noses along the hem of Steve's shirt and then sucks a bruise there, all while holding him up and gently thrusting their hips together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So strong," Steve repeats and then talking appears to be too much effort, because he breaks of into breathy moans and whimpers of encouragement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky isn't sure which one of them moves first, but they go from Steve being pressed against the bookshelf to being pinned face down against Bucky's desk. Bucky admires the view before he pushes his straining cock against the swell of Steve's ass, thrusting greedily while pressing open mouthed kisses behind his ears, to the nape of his neck. His hands roam freely up the expanse of Steve's back, his ass, his thighs, before wrapping around to settle on the bulge of his dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please," Steve whines, his hips pushing back greedily as his knuckles go white where he clutches the edge of the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky does his best to jerk him off through his pants, too intent on chasing his own orgasm to waste the precious seconds it would take to get their pants off or at least undone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels Steve tense underneath him before he makes a strangled sound as he comes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good," Bucky praises. "Doing so well for me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earns a strangled moan before Steve goes boneless on Bucky's desk with a contented sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a beautiful sight, and it only takes another moment before he's coming in his pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He collapses against Steve, who gives a breathless "Oof" but doesn't otherwise complain. They stay like that a while, Bucky's muscles protesting the awkward position but his head just as fervently protesting he move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he moves, he had to acknowledge what just happened. He very much does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's to Steve to push up enough that he can rest on an elbow. Bucky watches in amazement as the younger man doesn't push Bucky away, just reaches over to grab good abandoned whiskey mug and finish the rest of it in one long gulp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You gonna read me that story now?" Steve drawls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Story?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The first one you had published."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh… sure." It takes effort to do so, but he forces himself off of Steve. By the time he's retrieved the abandoned book, Steve's back in his seat, pouring whiskey like he doesn't have a huge wet spot on the front of his pants and the first signs of a hickey visible just below his collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drink some more, read and talk writing like they didn't just get each other off. It leaves Bucky with a strange sense of vertigo that lingers even after Steve's gone home. It's enough to make him wonder if he imagined the whole thing, except the way his boxes cling uncomfortably to him is proof </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores the slight internal crisis; he writes instead, fingers sometimes pressed to his lips as he remembers the feeling of kissing Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he's a coward, Bucky doesn't talk to Steve about it. He argues that he doesn't have the appropriate opportunity, since he only sees Steve in class or in passing on campus. Still, he could try harder to </span>
  <em>
    <span>create</span>
  </em>
  <span> an opportunity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's almost worked up the nerve a week later. His tentative plan is to invite Steve to office hours tomorrow to discuss the last assignment of the semester, and he's only rehearsed the whole thing a hundred times in his head on the walk from his office to the seminar room. He's on number one hundred and one when he hears Steve's voice around the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart skips a beat and he slows down to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Friday night?" Steve offers. "I don't have plans."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A feminine laugh answers him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky stops short.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Only took you all semester," a voice answers. Bucky scrambles to place it. "I thought you were blowing me off on purpose, Rogers. You finally going to take me dancing?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it clicks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's Peggy Carter, one of Nat's students in Bucky's seminar this semester. She often sits next to Steve and he's seen them talking before and after class on more than one occasion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization hurts, but it shouldn't. The whiskey incident aside, why does it matter that Steve's going dancing with someone who's not Bucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been working on a project. Seem to be making headway, though," Steve says. "So yeah, let's go dancing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pick me up at seven?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, Peg. You sure Danny won't mind—?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky storms around the corner, footsteps loud enough to drown out the rest of their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both students look startled to see him, though both offer smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Professor Barnes," Peggy greets him with a nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Professor—" Steve starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Make sure you're in your seats by the time class starts," he interrupts. He doesn't look at either of them, just pushes into the seminar room and let's the door slam behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> about?" he hears Peggy say before they're mercifully shut out in the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's not proud of it, but Bucky doesn't handle his jealousy well. He goes out of his way to ignore Steve's raised hand in class, his outbursts during discussions when it's clear Bucky's not going to acknowledge him, the slight hurt in his voice when he tries to catch him after class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, he manages to fill his office hours with kids from his freshman course so that when Steve comes, by he can easily ignore him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On and on it goes, until it's almost the end of the semester and Steve and Bucky haven't shared more than twenty words total despite Steve trying his damnedest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It'd be endearing if it weren't frustrating as hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a mistake getting involved with a student, no matter how accidental it was. Oh well, he'll learn and get over it. Thank fuck Steve's a senior; Bucky just had to survive another two weeks and then he'll never see him again, and that'll make it easier to forget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if he maybe doesn't want to forget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if he hasn't been able to write a single word since their falling out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if he can't meet Steve's eye in the middle of class because it makes his chest seize up whenever he sees a hint of blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where the hell did he go wrong?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's got a meeting with Clint, though fuck knows why. Clint's not really a meeting type and it takes a lot of effort on Nat's part just to get him in his office for office hours. The fact that he's requesting a meeting is weird enough, but it's weirder that he won't say what it's about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The future," Clint says vaguely whenever Bucky tries to clarify why the fuck Clint's making him stay late. He'll immediately change the subject, too, like that isn't transparent as fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky fully expects it to be Clint begging him for help because he's pissed off Natasha and can't figure out how to get out of the dog house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When six rolls around and it's Steve walking into his office instead of Clint, Bucky wishes he could disappear under his desk or flee the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a meeting at six,” he says dumbly and hopes that’ll be enough to make Steve leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” He closes the door behind him. Bucky hasn’t Steve this nervous since the first time he stepped in here, hoping to thank a stranger for letting him into a class. “I’m the meeting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky stares at him. “Huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked Professor Barton to schedule a meeting for me, and since you’ve been avoiding me, I asked him not to tell you what it was about.” He looks at Bucky pleading eyes. “Can we talk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky folds his hands in front of him on his desk, looks at them so he doesn’t have to look at Steve. “About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About wh—?” Steve’s voice is strangled. “About that night when I brought you the whiskey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He goes for nonchalant but he thinks it comes across more constipated. “We don’t have to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we should.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky says nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to talk about it…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shrugs now, doing his best to radiate disinterested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve growls in frustration. He paces in the small open space between Bucky’s desk and the door, barely room for three strides in either direction before he turns back around to start over. It gives Bucky the impression of a circus lion trapped in a cage, ready to spring if only given the chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gulps, and hopes Steve won’t lunge at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” Bucky says. “If you wanna talk, talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That stops Steve in his tracks. “You gonna listen?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like an arrow through his heart. Steve’s seen right through him, and it leaves him bare and exposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he offers, voice hoarse and his whole body trembling. He thinks maybe he could listen for a moment, let him get whatever it is off his chest; he owes Steve that much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t you talk to me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a question,” he hedges. “You said you wanted to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talking implies a conversation, doesn’t it?” Steve counters. “A conversation has </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us saying something. What, you want me just to talk at you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’d be easier,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bucky thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about we start with an easier one. You been writing since you cut me out?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… that’s not…” Bucky feels a bead of sweat drip down his brow. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Answer the question.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could lie. He’s not so oblivious that he doesn’t know the implications behind the question, and lying might help him side step them completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he wants to fall head first into whatever this in, because he’s completely honest when he says, “No, I haven’t been able to write a damn thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods. “Did you uh… like… what happened that night…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like it?” Bucky balks at him. The idea that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it is almost insulting. “Of course I did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay, good.” Steve frowns, like he has more pieces of the puzzle but can’t quite make them fit. “Then why’d you stop talking to me? I don’t understand it. Unless you don’t want to do it again…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Bucky rolls his eyes. “My interest doesn’t matter. It’s inappropriate—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I’m a kid or something? I knew what I was doing. Don’t ignore my choices, here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I won’t. It’s still inappropriate—” He holds up a hand to stop Steve from protesting. “—but I could have maybe lived with that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally looks up to meet earnest blue eyes. He lets himself drown in them a little before he answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you wanna date someone else, I’m not going to be something that stands in the way of that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Date someone else,” Steve repeats. The words seem strange to him, like he understands them each individually but they’ve suddenly been rendered incomprehensible once put in that order. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone your age,” Bucky hints. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone my age, right.” There’s no spark of understanding there. “Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And okay, he’s got Bucky there. Bucky’s treacherous heart wants to give in and say Steve’s right, he should date </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead. It’s a selfish, stupid wish that he can’t give voice to unless he’s willing to watch it shrivel up and die in front of him when Steve laughs at the absurdity of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead of answering the question he’s been asked, Bucky says, “Ms. Carter’s a nice young woman. Smart. Ambitious. Probably a good dancer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Peggy!?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve nearly shouts. “Is that what this is about? Jesus! We dated for like a minute in middle school. We just go dancing sometimes ‘cuz her boyfriend hurt his leg years back, it hurts him too much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky blinks at him. “Huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all that’s stopping you? You think me and Peggy are a thing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says defensively, even if it is about 95% of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not dating Peggy,” Steve assures him. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to date Peggy. And since you’re apparently as blind as Professor Barton warned me about, I’ll add that I want to date </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve… wants to date… </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” he squeaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By way of answer, Steve marches around the desk and climbs into Bucky’s lap. The chair shudders but doesn’t completely shatter under their combined weight, and then Steve’s kissing him and Bucky gives exactly zero fucks about the stupid chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get Barton or Romanov or your pet dog to grade the rest of my papers til the semester ends if it bothers you so much,” Steve growls between kisses. “Just don’t make us stop this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I actually have a pet cat—” Steve bites his lip and Bucky breaks off in a gasp. “Yeah, okay. Shutting up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Fingers tickle at the hem of his shirt and then it’s practically being torn off of him. “You have too many clothes on. Lemme see those muscles, lemme get my hands on ‘em…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky’s head gets stuck and he has to fumble to get it off. In the meantime, Steve’s brushing one hand over his left nipple and kissing at the right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck,” Bucky hisses. Not that he’s actually complaining. Far from it, but damn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?” Steve says as he continues to lap at the pebbled skin before moving his tongue to lavish the other nipple with attention. His hands are working Bucky’s fly open and it’s hard for Bucky to focus on anything more complicated than breathing right now, so it’s not fair that Steve’s still talking. “Next time, you’re fucking me against the desk, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hums agreement, because how the fuck is he supposed to turn that down, and watches as Steve’s hand wraps around his dick and shit shit shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe, sweetheart,” Steve says in his ear. “Don’t pass out on me. Gonna make you come, is that okay? Can I do that for you, sweetheart?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Bucky begs. His hands scramble along Steve’s arm, needing to hold on to something, anything in a vein attempt to keep himself from spiraling completely out of control. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky feels like he’s on fire as Steve strokes him, kisses him, breathes new life into him. And then the bastard has his own dick out, lined up right next to Bucky’s as he strokes them both faster and faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘s real good,” Bucky whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh. Gonna come all over you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does, followed soon after by Bucky. There’s a mess of come between them, but Steve sighs and curls into Bucky’s arm. He settles in the crook of Bucky’s neck, so close that Bucky can feel his heartbeat against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay there until the chair shudders violently and they drop an inch. It startles a laugh from them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might owe you a new chair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, get me a sturdier one for next time,” Bucky says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time… I like the sound of that.” Steve smiles shyly. “Hey, can I take you out for dinner some time? Like on a real date instead of flirting over papers and books.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... You were flirting with me the whole time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Were you not flirting back?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I was and didn’t know it.” He nudges Steve so he’ll get up, goes through his desk to find something they can use to clean themselves up. “Dinner sounds great, but maybe we wait until you graduate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, you’re no fun. Can we still fool around in your office?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you come after classes end, yeah. You can’t just hog my office hours all the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pouts but doesn’t argue. “Fine. You feel up for some writing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually. You up for helping?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky finishes his book by the end of the summer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They move in together after Steve’s first semester of grad school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bucky’s book is published, Steve finds his name in the dedication page along with a proposal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re married by the time Steve finishes his Masters. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Bonus Scene 1: </b><br/><b>Nat:</b> How did Rogers get into Barnes’ class? I thought it was full? I heard him whining to you about it for a week straight.<br/><b>Clint, drinking his coffee and not making direct eye contact:</b> I got Bucky to add him.<br/><b>Nat:</b> … Please tell me you’re not trying to set up your colleague with one of your students.<br/><b>Clint:</b> Of course not.<br/><b>Clint: </b><br/><b>Clint: </b><br/><b>Cint:</b> I’m trying to set up my student with one of my friends. Big difference.<br/><b>Nat:</b> We’re so getting fired jfc<br/><b>Clint:</b> I’m going to be his best man :)<br/><b>Bonus Scene 2: </b><br/><b>Bucky:</b> I have never been attracted to a student :)<br/><b>Steve:</b> *walks into his office*<br/><b>Bucky:</b> oh no :(</p><p><b>Bonus Scene 3: </b><br/><b>Steve:</b> i'm just so happy :) to work with such a talented writer :) i’m so excited he let me join his class :)<br/><b>Steve after he hears Bucky reading:</b> hmm i think i have a crush on him<br/><b>Steve after he sees Bucky changing after his workout:</b> whelp guess i’m gonna fuck him<br/><b>Steve after they work together on Bucky’s book:</b> nm i’m gonna marry this guy for sure<br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>